


Come Here Boy

by myenduringheart



Category: EXO (Band), Z.Tao (Musician)
Genre: Dark fic, M/M, Obsessiveness, Past Zitao / Chanyeol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2015-12-02
Packaged: 2018-05-04 11:56:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5333225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myenduringheart/pseuds/myenduringheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's always a cost in getting what you want. Sehun learns that he's willing to pay the price when Zitao is the reward.</p>
<p><b>Warnings</b>: stealing, arson, facefucking, rimming, breathplay, minor character death</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Here Boy

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [12 Horrors.](http://12horrors.livejournal.com/)

Zitao has dropped to a kneel, pressing his hands to the sun warmed dirt, and all Sehun can think is how _pretty_ he looks on his knees. 

Zitao catches his expression. His eyes seem to flicker to black, the pupil expanding to encompass his entire eye, but it's so fast that Sehun thinks he must've imagined it. 

Zitao smiles up at him, swiping his tongue across his lower lip, and although - surely - he means nothing of it, Sehun can only think of one thing: how pretty his mouth is. And all Sehun can feel is how much he _wants_ him. 

And it's wrong, because they've only just met, and Sehun is not that kind of person - no, he's a good boy. But these thoughts? They simultaneously shame and excite him. He wants to make Zitao his. 

Perhaps that's where it started. 

Or perhaps… it was a little earlier.

+++

Yes, Sehun has always been a good boy. Everyone tells him this: his parents, his ex-teachers, the elderly neighbour that he hurries to help whenever he sees her walking outside.

The only disobedient thing that he does is go caving alone. 

It's the first and most important rule of caving: never do it solo. It's too dangerous and risky, because if you ever get injured or lost, there's very little you can do by yourself when you're deep underground. But Sehun has been caving alone for so long now that nothing much fazes him, and he's yet to encounter a situation that has truly scared him. 

Except for now. 

Right now, the light from Sehun's headlight, mounted on his helmet, quivers from how much he's trembling. 

He can hardly believe his own eyes, except he's been standing there for the last five minutes, has even pinched himself hard enough to bruise, and the scene hasn't changed. 

Neither have the pleas.

"Help me," calls the voice that lead Sehun here. Even though it's low and raspy, as if it's been in use for hours and hours, begging constantly, the desperation in those two words is still clear and strong. "Please. Help me." 

Finally Sehun shakes himself free from his shock and moves to step closer, carefully picking his way over the uneven rocks. 

Jutting from the ceiling and floor are long stalagmites and stalactites which he ducks and weaves around to avoid, and the walls that are barely visible in the cast off light from Sehun's torch glitter in the gloom. There's the steady sound of dripping water, and the place seems alive, like it's inhaling and exhaling. 

He's deep in a cave system, one that he'd stumbled across months ago and had assumed was unexplored. He's spent months scouting this system and this particular room - a monstrously sized cavern, so high that the light from his headtorch can't reach the top - is the furthest he'd come. It's taken him hours to get to this point: a slow careful climb downwards into the darkness, having to wade through rivers and crawl through small holes, some of which were so tight he'd had to get down on his belly like an insect to squeeze through. 

And now he's in a room so vast and beautiful it could take his breath away - except that's not the reason his chest feels heavy. 

Because in the middle of this vast room stands a tall gilded birdcage made out of thick golden bars. The cage is twice as tall as Sehun and about 10 paces wide, curving inwards at the top to make a bell shape. It's a gigantic construction. And inside? Inside is a boy - a man - clutching the bars and whispering, "Help me." 

Even in the gloom and Sehun's torchlight, he can tell that he's beautiful, with black hair, a high nose, dark luminous eyes, and he looks to be of a similar age to Sehun himself. He's topless but dressed in a pair of flowing pants gathered at the ankles, and despite the fact that he's deep underneath the earth his skin glows bronze. 

As Sehun approaches he sees that the cage is secured with a large golden lock, its surface darkened slightly with tarnish. Sehun looks around helplessly for a key before he gives up, removing one of his back up metal torches from his backpack. It's lightweight but built to be drop resistant, and he crosses his fingers that it's strong enough. He uses it to hammer down on the lock, hoping that brute force will manage to break it. It takes him several goes, sweat beading on his forehead from the exertion, before the lock breaks and the door swings open. 

The boy leaps out into Sehun's arms, babbling thank yous into Sehun's neck. He's warm: warm, breathing, _alive_ , and perhaps Sehun should have questioned how he'd come to be trapped in there. But instead, he asks, "What's your name?"

"My name's Zitao," he's told and Zitao is looking at him with eyes shining with something that appears to be devotion. But perhaps - if Sehun had been more aware - he would have realised was something a little bit more.

+++

As soon as they reach the open, Zitao sinks to his knees, palms open as he touches the dirt beneath it. "It's warm," he marvels, tipping his head back to soak in the sunshine.

He meets Sehun's eyes, and his expression turns knowing, as if he can read Sehun's mind, can see those thoughts that are making Sehun pink and hot. 

Maybe he can. 

Zitao shuffles closer, still on his knees, to rest his head against Sehun's thigh. 

"Thank you," he murmurs. "Thank you for rescuing me. I want to reward you. Can I?" 

Sehun knows what he's implying. This is hardly appropriate - although the area is deserted, with very few people ever coming to these parts - they're still out in the open. And yet Sehun can't find it in himself to say no as Zitao's hands reach up to undo his pants. 

At the first contact of Zitao's pretty, pretty mouth, Sehun's knees almost buckle. He bites back his moans, stuffing a fist into his mouth to muffle the noises he's making, as below him Zitao laps obscenely at Sehun's cock, licking it clean of the precome already beading at the tip. Zitao swirls his tongue around the head teasingly, toying with the sensitive underside and Sehun has to grip a handful of Zitao's hair to anchor himself. He pulls tightly on the strands and Zitao lets out a little moan in response. It's the sexiest thing Sehun has ever heard. 

Zitao holds Sehun's gaze with those intense eyes of his and then swallows him down with a quick bob of his head, all the way, and Sehun can't help the involuntarily bucking of his hips as he accidentally drives his cock further down Zitao's throat. He apologises quickly as Zitao gags, and pulls him off gently, sorry for the tears at the corner of Zitao's eyes. 

"It's okay," Zitao reassures him, voice a little hoarse. "I was just surprised." He presses his lips to Sehun's erection, letting them drag across the skin as he speaks. "Want to reward you. Fuck my mouth, come down my throat. Do whatever you want. _Please_." 

Sehun revises his earlier thought. _That_ is the sexiest thing he's ever heard, and it sends arousal spiking in him. Zitao lips close around Sehun's cock, letting it slide into his mouth as he hollows his cheeks, giving Sehun a look that says, _what are you waiting for?_

Sehun thrusts slowly, experimentally, into the wet heat of Zitao's mouth, to which Zitao gives a dissatisfied, muffled, whine that obviously means: _more_. Sehun picks up the pace, still slow at first until Zitao whines at him again, gradually fucking his mouth hard and fast and brutal. Zitao's is serene through it, lips curved up as if he's smiling, and fuck, it's amazing. Sehun's lightheaded, barely holding on to his control, and when he looks down and realises that he can see that Zitao is hard through his thin trousers - that he's aroused from being face fucked - Sehun loses it completely, coming with a loud moan down Zitao's throat. 

"Come here," he says, after he's caught his breath, pulling Zitao to his feet, so he can kiss him. He can taste himself but he doesn't care as he maps out Zitao's mouth with his tongue and jerks him off with firm strokes. 

And then after that, what can Sehun do?

He takes him home.

It's late afternoon by now. Sehun had spent all morning in the cave, and although it had only taken them an hour to get out, with Zitao knowing a shortcut to exit, it will be dark in a couple of hours. 

Already the temperature has started to fall and although Zitao doesn't appear to be cold, Sehun removes his coat and one of his inner shirts and hands them over, thankful for once for the extra layers that caving requires. Zitao takes them gratefully, putting them both on. He pulls the coat tightly around himself and presses his nose into the collar. Even though his mouth is hidden, Sehun can tell he's smiling. 

Once inside they're inside his car, Sehun feels the need to apologise for it. It's a shitbox - over 30 years old, rusting, and about to fall apart at any moment. "I want a new one," Sehun explains, "I just don't have the money for it right now." 

Zitao doesn't say anything, just gives him a small secretive smile that eases Sehun's embarrassment. 

They don't talk much on the drive home, with Zitao spending most of his time looking out the passenger window. Until - when they're back in the city and stopped at a red light - he suddenly turns to Sehun, pointing to the car in front of them. 

"Do you like that?"

"That car?" Zitao seems to be referring to the white Maserati ahead of them. It's a beautiful car - sleek and sporty. Sehun has always secretly longed for a car like that. "Yeah. It's nice." 

Zitao settles back into his seat, his smile turning smug. "Good." 

"Good?" 

The light changes to green and Zitao doesn't respond, returning to look out the window again. 

After a while Sehun notices that the Maserati is coincidentally driving the same route that he always takes home. It's odd. He's never seen that car in his neighbourhood before, and it's definitely the kind of car that he would have noticed. 

But he can pass it off as coincidence - until the Maserati turns into his street, and then pulls into the carpark of Sehun's apartment block. 

By the time they arrive, the Maserati has already parked - in Sehun's usual carspace. The owner is nowhere to be seen. 

It's Zitao who leaves the car first, heading straight to the Maserati, and Sehun quickly follows once he can get his limbs moving. "Zitao, wait!"

When he reaches Zitao, Zitao draws him in for a hug. "It's beautiful, isn't it? Do you like it?"

"Yes, it's a lovely car, but --"

Zitao cuts him off, pressing a set of keys into Sehun's hand. "I found these on the ground. Let's take it for a drive." 

"I can't - it's not mine."

"What if it was?" Zitao asks him, his voice honey sweet in his ear. 

"But it's not…"

"We could just take it for a quick drive," Zitao wheedles. He's pressed himself tightly against Sehun, and Sehun feels a little dizzy at his proximity. "Just to see what it's like. It won't hurt anyone." Then, almost as an afterthought, "I haven't been in a car like this in _such_ a long time." And there's a wistfulness in his voice that melts away all of Sehun's protests about how he can't: it's not his to take, it's illegal, it's basically stealing. None of it matters - all that matters is getting that note of discontent out of Zitao's voice. 

And as soon as Sehun slides into the driver's seat, the leather soft underneath his skin, it feels _right_ , as if he belongs here. Despite that, when he starts it up, he's careful at first as he tries to get the feel of the car, until Zitao reaches over the centre to place his hand onto Sehun's thigh. 

"Test her out properly," he suggests, his thumb stroking up the inner seam of Sehun's pants, and when Sehun shoots him a quick glance Zitao's eyes are lit up with a muted excitement. 

Sehun presses down the accelerator hard, letting her go, and she _roars_ as they're both pressed into their seats by the force. 

They head on the road out of town to the mountains. It's good driving on the hills - there's barely any other traffic and the roads there are windy enough to be interesting. Sehun has never driven something so responsive, with so much power, and the faster they drive - overtaking everyone in their path - the more adrenaline rushes through his veins.

There's a lookout near the top of the mountain, one that gives a great view of the city below them, and Sehun pulls off when they reach it, braking to bring them to a sharp stop. As he switches off the engine he realises how heavily he's breathing. He's panting, really, and all the adrenaline that had been flowing through him has pooled downwards. He's embarrassed to find that he's hard. 

"That was incredible," Zitao tells him, his voice low and husky, his hand creeping higher and higher up Sehun's thigh. "You're incredible." 

Sehun closes his eyes, his head thumping back against the headrest. There's a click as Zitao undoes his seatbelt and then Sehun has a lapful of man - _demon_ \- who's intent on kissing him until he's breathless. Sehun's hands automatically fall to cup Zitao's ass, palming his cheeks as they grind against each other like schoolboys. His embarrassment is forgotten because Zitao seems as aroused as Sehun is. 

But it's Zitao who pulls away first, lips swollen and wet, eyes dark but aflame. Sehun lets out a whine of protest, trying to follow his mouth, but Zitao keeps them apart. 

"Later," he says, and although it sounds like a solemn promise, there's a flicker of mischief on his curved lips. "Take me home, Sehun."

+++

"Good morning," Sehun says, once he notices that Zitao is awake.

Zitao is splayed out in his bed, the covers half pushed down his chest, exposing the marks that Sehun left there last night. They look good on him, Sehun thinks, wanting to trace them with his finger, with his tongue. 

He doesn't have time, unfortunately. Work beckons. Sehun hadn't wanted to wake him, but after he noticed Zitao stirring, he gave in to the urge to drop a kiss on his lips. 

"Morning," Zitao rasps, his voice croaky from sleep, before he wakes up enough to realise that Sehun is already dressed. "Where're you going?"

"I have to go to work," Sehun tells him reluctantly as Zitao holds out his hand. Sehun lets himself be pulled back to the bed, but resists Zitao's efforts to make him crawl back in. Instead he sits on the edge. "I can't, I'm sorry. I have to work. You can stay here - help yourself to anything." There's not much food, but Sehun thinks that Zitao can probably find something edible in his fridge and cupboards.

Zitao gives him a little pout. "I don't want to stay here by myself. Can I come with you?"

Sehun works retail, at a men's formal wear shop. There's not much foot traffic during the week so most of the time Sehun mans the shop by himself, with the owner dropping in occasionally when required. As he's generally alone, he supposes that it wouldn't be a problem if Zitao tagged along. 

"It won't be very fun," Sehun tries to warn him, but Zitao is already beaming at his answer and climbing his way out of bed. Sehun admires the view of Zitao's strong shoulders and the dimples in his lower back as he wanders naked to the bathroom, before he forces himself to focus. 

He finds it hard to do that with Zitao around. He's immensely distracting, and Sehun keeps finding himself drifting away, getting lost in thoughts of him.

When they reach the carpark, Zitao asks if he can drive, and Sehun agrees, tossing the keys over to him. Even from the passenger seat, the leather feels wonderful and he relaxes, just giving Zitao directions occasionally. 

Once at the shop, Sehun unlocks the doors, switches on the lights and the cash register, and grabs a duster from the back. The duster is quickly run over the shelves and racks, and he checks to make sure that everything is straight and neat. It doesn't take him long, and soon he's flipping the closed sign to open. 

The store both rents and sells formal wear. One half of the store has racks of suits and tuxes for hire, with the other half holding the ones for sale. It's not a large selection, but it's decent, and the owner prides himself on his quality clothing. There's also a few racks of accessories - some colourful patterned ties, socks, and sunglasses. The place is brightly lit, decorated in warm neutral tones, and very sharp and clean. At the back of the store are two fitting rooms and a door that leads to the backroom. 

Sehun sits on his stool behind the counter, checking on the computer to find which customers are overdue on their suit rentals. This is one of his daily morning tasks - calling people to remind them that their clothes are due to be returned. He hates this part of his job. Noone is ever pleased to receive his call, particularly when he has to remind them of the overdue fees, and more often than not they're rude and arrogant. 

Still, Sehun does his job dutifully. 

While he makes the phone calls - there's only two today, thankfully - he watches Zitao wander around the store, idly inspecting the merchandise. When Sehun is finished, putting down the phone, Zitao calls out to him. 

"You'd look great in one of these." Zitao's fingering the collar of a tuxedo - a classic fit and cut, made to look sharp and formal. He continues, "You look better in nothing," he says with a little teasing smile, "but you'd also look great in this."

The smile sends heat flashing through Sehun as it makes him remember the previous night, when they'd fucked in almost every room in Sehun's small apartment. Sehun blushes, ducking his head, and mumbles a thanks for the compliment before adding, "Not that I have anywhere to wear it to."

While Sehun is happy to have a job at all, and even though it could be worse - he knows his job is crap. It's boring and he gets paid just enough to afford rent on his shit apartment. When would he ever have an occasion to wear something like that? 

Zitao shrugs and wanders across the store towards him, coming behind the counter to take a seat on Sehun's lap. "Let's do something," he suggests, mischief crossing his face. 

"What?"

"Hmmmm… I dunno?" Zitao is lying, he very obviously has something in mind judging by the way he's slowly kissing along Sehun's jaw and grinding purposefully down in Sehun's lap. Sehun lets out a quiet moan before he can stop himself.

"Not here!"

"Out back?" Zitao asks innocently. The room out the back holds their excess stock, and also contains a mini-kitchen and a break area large enough for a small table and a couple of comfy chairs. "No one has come in for ages," Zitao continues, punctuating his words with little nips at the skin on Sehun's neck. "And you'll hear if someone does anyway." There's a bell above the front door of the shop that rings each time it's opened. 

Despite Sehun's better judgement, he lets Zitao take his hand and lead him into the back. 

He has Zitao bent facedown across the arm of the couch, spreading his cheeks apart as he teases him open with his tongue, when the bell twinkles.

Sehun stops at the noise, his breath hot against Zitao's hole. 

"Ignore it," Zitao gasps. " _Please_ ," he begs, his voice desperate and wrecked. "Keep going." 

Sehun groans, pressing his forehead to the small of Zitao's back. He thinks about ignoring the customer outside, but then thinks of what might happen if he doesn't go out. 

Above all, Sehun is a good boy. Everyone says so. And good boys don't ignore their work to eat someone out. 

"I can't, I'm sorry." He presses a kiss to Zitao's back, giving him a fond pat on the ass, before rinsing out his mouth with a swig of water and cleaning his face with a wad of kitchen towels. Once clean and presentable, and after adjusting his erection so it's not visible through his pants, he hurries out. 

There's an older man outside. He looks like he's in his 50s, with a smattering of grey at his temples and thick eyebrows. He's not in too bad a shape, or perhaps it's the flattering cut of his clothing. He's wearing a dark navy suit and leather shoes - very conservative but classic. The man frowns in Sehun's direction when Sehun comes up to him, asking him politely, "Is there anything I can help you?"

"Yes," the man responds curtly. "I need to try some things on." 

"Of course." 

The man pulls a hanger off the rack and thrusts it at him. "I want this in my size."

Sehun sputters a little. Their shop isn't laid out that way. All the sizes are grouped together, with each group having a selection of different styles. They don't have the exact same style in multiple sizes. In addition, the guy hasn't even told Sehun what size he wears. Sehun tries to explain, but the man gives him a withering glance, and Sehun wilts. 

"I'll look for something." 

He makes a guess at the customer's size and looks through the appropriate rack for something similar. He selects a couple and takes them over to him. "Would you like to try these?"

"Fine." 

They head over to the fitting room, and the customer disappears inside with the suits Sehun handed him. Zitao has returned from the backroom at some point, and he's behind the counter, sitting up straight on the stool and ankles crossed. He's quiet but he's frowning heavily, but Sehun doesn't have time for him right now because the customer is shouting behind the door. "This doesn't fit me!"

"I'm sorry, is it too large? Too small?"

"It doesn't fit!"

Zitao slides off the chair, stalking his way over. His face is thunderous, enough to scare the bravest of men, but Sehun holds him back with a hand to his chest, whispering, "Sit down! I'll deal with this."

It takes another 30 minutes before Sehun is finally cashing the customer out, and it can't be soon enough. The guy has been unbelievably rude, acting like Sehun is there to cater to his every whim, and making snide comments about how slow and hopeless he is. Sehun has done his best to not let it bother him, but it's difficult when he can feel Zitao getting angrier and angrier by the second. 

By the time the man leaves, after throwing his business card across the counter, with a final brusque instruction, "I expect a phone call as soon as my pants are hemmed," Zitao is so livid Sehun can almost taste it in the air.

When the door closes, Zitao says softly, his voice dangerously low, "That man disrespected you."

"It's fine," Sehun tells him, trying to defuse the tension. "Some people are just assholes, I'm fine." 

Zitao knits his eyebrows together, letting out a heavy breath. "No one should ever treat you like that." 

"Well," Sehun tries to shrug it off. "It doesn't matter. He's gone now." Secretly though, he's not as okay about it as he's acting. It's just a passing feeling, but he wants to hurt that guy. He wants to make him feel useless, helpless and small - just like he made Sehun feel. 

Zitao palms the business card, reading over it, brow still furrowed, before he types something into the computer. After a minute, he says, "We should go pay him a visit." He turns the screen to show Sehun. "This is where he lives."

"How did you find his address?"

Zitao just shrugs. "I looked it up. He has an unusual name." Then he gives Sehun a sweet smile, one that wipes away the rest of Sehun's questions. "Are you coming or not?"

+++

It shouldn't surprise Sehun that Asshole Guy lives in a really nice neighbourhood - a really, really nice neighbourhood. All the houses that line the street are modern and double-storied, sitting on large blocks and separated from each other by perfect manicured lawns and flawlessly pruned hedges.

Sehun parks a block away, and they walk to the house together, hand in hand. 

Sehun intends to just take a quick look - maybe knock over the guy's letterbox or something. But when they're in front of the house and he stops to check out the letterbox to see how strong the pole is - Zitao calls to him from the porch. 

"Sehun?" The front door is wide open, with Zitao standing in the doorway. Sehun races up to him. 

"Did you break in?!"

Zitao just gives him that lovely smile that makes Sehun forget his train of thought, walking inside. 

As expected from the exterior, Asshole Guy is obviously well off and he's not afraid to show it. He has terrible taste though, and Sehun wrinkles his nose at the tacky extravagance that the decor displays. While he's looking around, Zitao disappears up the stairs. 

"Zitao!"

Zitao has found the master bedroom, and when Sehun arrives he sees him going through the dresser drawers. "Zitao!" 

Zitao has discovered the guy's collection of watches and is contently pawing through them. He holds one up for Sehun to see. "Look at this, this is _nice_. Do you know how much this costs?"

"Zitao." 

Zitao flashes him a smirk but puts it back where he found it, letting Sehun take his hand to lead him back down the thick carpeted stairs. The lower floor opens out as they descend, providing a view of the spacious open plan living area. 

As Sehun looks around, he thinks about how _unfair_ it is. Sehun will never own a place like this. Sehun is a good person - he treats people nicely and with respect. He's never been an asshole to anyone like this guy is. But where has being good ever got him? It's gotten him a crap job, a crap apartment, barely any friends, and people who treat him like dirt.

The only person who's ever treated him like he's worth anything has been Zitao.

Zitao squeezes his hand, interrupting his dark thoughts by pulling him in for a kiss. "Let's trash the place," Zitao says, a gleam in his eye. "Teach him a lesson." Zitao reaches out, and with a casual swipe of his hand, tips a lamp off a nearby side table. They watch as it crashes on to the hardwood floor, shattering into pieces. 

Sehun wants to crush it underneath his feet, see all the pieces ground into dust.

Good boys don't trash other people's houses for revenge. But maybe Sehun is tired of being good. 

Still, he doesn't want to trash this guy's house. Not at all. Instead, Sehun says slowly, "I have a better idea. Let's burn it down." 

He's shocked Zitao, judging by the way his mouth drops open. But Zitao recovers quickly, the edges of his lips tipping upwards, a hint of evil in that smile. "Let's do it."

+++

It burns so easily.

After it takes hold, they retreat to a safe distance down the street to watch. 

It burns brighter than any fire Sehun has ever seen before, the flames reaching up towards the sky in red and orange twirls. Even from where they're standing they can hear the crackling, the roaring, as the flames start to consume the house, destroying it forever. 

The fire is oddly beautiful, but, Sehun thinks, what's even more beautiful is Zitao as he watches, enrapt and enthralled: excitement, passion, and lust obvious in his eyes, so dark they're almost black. 

"You're so beautiful," Sehun breathes, unable to hold it in any further. There's sirens sounding in the distance and smoke keeps drifting higher and higher into the sky. 

That diverts Zitao's attention from the fire. "Do you like beautiful things, Sehun?" Zitao asks, winding himself around him like a noose. His lips find Sehun's, and they kiss, languid and unhurried. 

"I want to give you all the beautiful things in the world," Zitao tells him as one of his hands snakes down Sehun's pants. "Want you to have everything." 

In the background, the house keeps burning, brighter and brighter and brighter.

+++

Sehun can feel Zitao's pulse hammering wildly underneath his palm.

"More," Zitao whispers and Sehun tightens his hold, watching his face closely for signs of distress as he slowly cuts off his oxygen. He hadn't been sure if this was a good idea when Zitao first brought it up, when they'd discussed how it would work, when they'd agreed on a non-verbal safeword, but _now_? Now that Zitao's life is literally in his hands, he wants _more_.

He doesn't know where this feeling is coming from. But the more he takes, the more Zitao gives him, the more Sehun wants to own him, make it so Zitao is all his and no one else's. 

Zitao shivers, cock so hard and flushed that Sehun can feel it between their bodies every time he moves. Sehun holds his palm steady over Zitao's neck, thrusting into him, hard and deep. Zitao's eyes roll back as his body fights against the lack of air, all his muscles tense, and Sehun fucks him harder, increasing the pressure on his throat. 

It doesn't take until Zitao comes hard, back arched in a silent scream, clenching so tight around Sehun that it sends him off the edge, emptying his release into Zitao with jerky spurts. 

Afterwards, Zitao lies quietly in Sehun's arms, wiped out and drowsy. Sehun had cleaned them both up before crawling back to bed, pulling him tightly into his body, wanting him as close as possible. It's only been a couple of days but it scares Sehun a little how much he wants to lose himself in this man. Lose himself so he'll never be found again.

Perhaps he's already lost. 

Sehun brushes a finger along the high curve of Zitao's cheekbone as Zitao's eyelashes flutter sleepily. "Who are you?" Sehun wonders aloud. "Where did you come from?" 

He means it rhetorically but Zitao stiffens, eyes flying open in alarm. 

"Wait." Sehun stops him from turning over, from moving away. "I'm sorry. You don't have to tell me." He has wondered though, on and off, how Zitao came to be in the cave. Who put him there? Why?

"There was a guy…" Zitao says slowly. "I thought he loved me, but…" His eyes brim with unshed tears. "I gave him everything," he whispers, and it's like a confession of sin. "Everything." A blood diamond, clear and pure but tainted, rolls down his cheek. "All I ever wanted is for someone to love me. Only me." 

Sehun is usually an even tempered person. But as Zitao tells him more - about this guy who had Zitao, who knew him, who kissed him, who fucked him - someone who took and took and took and then threw him away - he's filled with rage, so quiet and still that it's all the more frightening. 

"Who is he?" Sehun demands, angrier than he's ever been in his life. "Where is he?"

+++

Sehun has moments of clarity where he recognises that this hold Zitao has over him isn't normal.

But then Zitao looks at him like he's the only person that exists in the entire world, and Sehun realises that he doesn't care.

+++

A tall man opens the door. He's attractive: big eyes, clear skin, with a wide mouth that seems like it's used to smile a lot.

He's not smiling right now though. 

Zitao is in front, and the man sees him first. The man's eyes widen in alarm - almost fear - and he takes a involuntary step backwards, recoiling from Zitao. "How did you --?" Then he spots Sehun and a horrified realisation crosses his face. 

Zitao ignores him, stepping inside, and the man keeps backing away from him. "Hi Chanyeol," Zitao says pleasantly as Sehun shuts the door behind them. "You seem surprised to see me." 

"How did you get up here?" It's a fair question. The man - Chanyeol lives in a tall apartment building, one that requires an access card to get through the main doors. But the door was open and the lobby empty when Zitao and Sehun arrived. So Zitao waltzed straight in, as if he belonged there - and perhaps he did - heading straight to the escalators and punching in the code to take them both to the penthouse floor. 

"Is that what you really what you want to say to me?" Zitao asks. "You don't want to tell me you missed me?" He has Chanyeol backed up against the wall, and even though Chanyeol is the taller one, Zitao seems to loom over him. Zitao pulls a gun out of his jacket pocket and taps the muzzle against Chanyeol's forehead - once, twice - as Chanyeol cringes. "Surprise." 

_Where the hell did Zitao get a gun from?_

With Zitao's free hand he reaches back to Sehun, linking their fingers together and says, as if he senses Sehun's unasked question, "I took it from that asshole's house."

"You don't know what you've done," Chanyeol says to Sehun, and Sehun notes how much he's trembling. "You have no idea what you've done." 

"He knows what he's done," Zitao responds on Sehun's behalf, his voice eerily light and pleasant. "He saved me."

+++

They force Chanyeol into the dining room where Zitao roughly pushes him into a chair and tells him to stay, like he's a dog.

"Can you watch him?" Zitao asks Sehun. "I need to find something to secure him with." Zitao hands the gun over and disappears from the room. 

Sehun has never held a gun before. It's heavier than he expected, and surprisingly warm: warmed from Zitao's skin. Chanyeol eyes him nervously, licking his lips to wet them, before saying, "Let me go. I have money, I'll give you whatever you want - just let me go. Before Zitao comes back --"

Sehun glares at him, pulling back the safety on the gun and pointing it between Chanyeol's eyes to shut him up. "This wasn't Zitao's idea. It was mine." 

It's amusing to see Chanyeol deflate, to see the way his entire body slumps in defeat, to see the hope draining out of his eyes. Sehun feels a rush of power, of satisfaction, something that he's never felt before. 

"He's got you," Chanyeol says helplessly. "Oh god, he's got you. You have no idea --" He almost chokes on his own spit. "Don't do this," he pleads. 

"What do you think I'm going to do?" Sehun asks him, dropping down to a crouch in front of him. He rests the pistol on Chanyeol's thigh and is amused when Chanyeol's focus shifts to the gun. "Maybe we should tie you up and leave you here to die - alone and afraid - like you left Zitao."

"I didn't leave him!" Chanyeol protests quickly. "I returned him to where I found him!" 

Sehun stills. 

Seeing that he has Sehun's attention, Chanyeol continues, babbling. "I freed him - just like you did. Before I met Zitao, my life was… it was pathetic. I had nothing. Then I found him, and afterwards - all these things started happening. Opportunities. Everything that I ever wanted. Oh god, my songs finally sold and I thought -- I didn't realise -- I thought it was _me_. I had all this money, this penthouse, but I didn't realise the cost until it was almost too late.I wish I'd left him there, I should've left him behind, fuck, I ---" 

He's interrupted by Zitao returning to the room, a coil of rope in his hands. "Having a nice conversation?" Zitao asks, dropping a kiss on top of Sehun's head. Then he secures Chanyeol to the chair, looping the thick cord around his torso several times, and winding it around his wrists so they're tied behind him. 

"I told him the truth," Chanyeol blurts, eyes wild. "You can kill me but he knows the truth."

Zitao laughs. He laughs and laughs and laughs until he's almost crying. "I'm not going to kill you," he finally manages to say. 

Just for a moment, the hope returns to Chanyeol's eyes. 

Sehun wants to extinguish it. 

"I am," Sehun says, and is pleased when the hope dies. 

At those words, Chanyeol starts thrashing in the chair, shouting and screaming at the top of his lungs. "Help! Someone help me!" Sehun whips the pistol across his face, splitting the skin on his cheek open. 

"Shut up."

"Let him scream - this is the only apartment on the floor. No one can hear him."

Blood drips down Chanyeol's cheek, mixing with his tears, and Sehun thinks it's _wonderful_.

+++

Sehun has never thought that he could be capable of killing someone. He'd never thought that he could listen to someone begging for his life and not be affected. He never thought that he could enjoy it.

But afterwards, as he surveys Chanyeol's limp corpse and remembers the exact moment that he saw the light leave his eyes, he feels free, as if this is who he's meant to be. 

"Is it true?" Sehun asks Zitao. Blood is steadily dripping off Chanyeol's body on to the polished floorboards. It'll stain if left for much longer. "Did he really find you like I did?"

Zitao presses himself into Sehun's side, curling an arm around his waist so he can lay his head on Sehun's shoulder. He's taller, broader, but he seems small like this. "Is that what you really want? To know if he was telling the truth?" he asks airily. He trails his fingers up Sehun's stomach, up his chest to lightly brush around Sehun's nipple. "Does it matter? He's dead. And we both know why you killed him." 

Does it matter how Chanyeol and Zitao met? No, Sehun thinks, he doesn't want to know. He licks his lips, tasting the blood that splattered on his face, and pulls Zitao in for a kiss. 

He didn't kill Chanyeol because he left Zitao in that cage. 

He killed Chanyeol because he'd been with Zitao: had kissed him and fucked him and had Zitao _love_ him. Sehun couldn't let that go. 

Sehun wants Zitao to belong to him - only him. Other people may want power, prestige, money - but Sehun wants Zitao to be _his_. 

"I am," Zitao whispers, pressing open kisses along his collarbone as he undoes Sehun's pants. He drops to his knees, eyes shining in worship. "I'm only yours."


End file.
